


Of Broken Arms and Old Oak Trees

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A thing, And Dean having realizations, M/M, Open ended, With trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean Winchester is forced to write a short essay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Broken Arms and Old Oak Trees

**Directions: ** Write a short essay about who you are, and why you think you are that person. This is a casual essay, so I can get to know each of my students and to gauge your writing abilities. Allow it to be messy. I want to hear your thoughts, not what you think you’re supposed to say. Please, be creative.

 

                When I was twelve I broke my arm. People tell me often that we block out memories that caused us to feel pain (mostly my brother Sam), but I don’t think the pain of my arm was great enough to block out my first memory of Castiel Novak. He was the reason I broke my arm in the first place.

                There was an old house on the corner with broken, boarded up windows. It was big and dark, surrounded by a ring of sentinel-like pine trees. It was half covered in thick ivy that sprouted hundreds of tiny white flowers every couple of years. I loved that house, and I loved the huge oak tree behind it. The tree spread its thick limbs over the backyard as if it owned the place. It was strong, and the huge leaves made it the perfect place to hide away.

                For as long as I could remember there had been a decrepit For Sale sign falling down at the edge of the road in front of the house. The paint was coming off of it in curls, as if it was simply falling slowly away. No one bothered to replace it, because who would want to live there? The doors to the house stayed locked, and the inside was so dusty no one wanted to go inside. It was the perfect place to be alone.

                The day I broke my arm Dad had come home to a cleaned kitchen and both of his sons alive. It was early morning, and even Sam was still asleep. Somehow, Dad was still angry. He still yelled at me. I can never remember what he was yelling about. At twelve I had already learned to block out the words, even if the tone still hurt. He never yelled at Sam, who was only nine then, but I was supposed to be responsible for my younger brother anyways. Or maybe it was just that I was the one who was always there to be yelled at.

                When Dad has finally gone to bed and Sam was still hiding in his room I slipped out the back door. I felt sick, which wasn’t unusual after Dad has screamed at me for not trying. I ran as fast as I could down the road and through that old, creaking, rusty gate. It squealed at me as I slammed it closed, never even slowing down. I pushed myself up the gravel drive and around the back of the house, through the pine trees that held out the world. Then, I threw myself into the old oak tree.

                I climbed, and I climbed. I never seemed to quite reach the top of the tree, no matter how many times I climbed it. But I certainly tried. Finally, out of breath and leaning almost comfortably against a branch, I stilled. I stayed in the same position for what felt like hours, peaking through leaves out at the world beyond. I swayed with the spring breeze, watched the new green leaves shiver with it. I could have stayed there forever, but my legs were shivering with exhaustion and I knew I had to go home at some point. Slowly, I started sliding down the slightly mossy branches. I made it to the bottom branches quickly, but even the bottom branches were fairly high up. I had done this so many times it was as easy as breathing. So, when there was a sudden yelp as I stepped on fingers, I was suddenly aware of how little attention I had been paying my surroundings. I lost my balance for a moment, and then barely caught myself as I moved my foot off of the hand below me. I looked down into the bluest eyes I had ever seen, and then I slipped and fell to the ground.

                The fall seemed to take forever, which is one of the biggest clichés I have ever admitted to. Before I hit the ground I had already compared those blue eyes to a million things, including perfect October skies. I was reminded of soft blue blankets in Sam’s crib, and my mom, and the flowers in Ellen’s yard down the street.

                When I finally hit the ground I hit it hard, and my arm twisted under my chest with a loud crack. I yelped loudly, even before I felt the sudden shocking pain. It was like being dunked in a pool full of ice and being licked by flames at the same time. I made a sound sort of like a hiccup because all of the breath had been forced from my lungs and then heard a shout. Then, a hand touched my shoulder gently. I tried to lift myself up, but merely gave a sort of heaving sob. There still wasn’t enough air in my lungs to make much sound, but I was sure I was crying. Somehow, I managed to get onto my back. The blue eyes were there again, but the pain made me dizzy and colors swirling at the edges of my vision blurred them. I could barely focus and could feel the tears welling up in my eyes silently. My blood pounded in my ears and I felt myself grin quite suddenly through the tears. I was suddenly loopy on adrenaline, and I sat up slowly even though it made my head spin and my stomach heave. “Hello,” I choked out. I cradled my obviously ruined right arm to my chest, deciding with strange calmness that they’ probably amputate. No more baseball.

                “Anna!” the blue eyes shouted. The loud sound made my head feel like it was exploding. Maybe I had a concussion too.

                After that everything in my memory becomes a blur of Anna’s bright red hair, and hospitals and so much movement I just had to close my eyes for a while. So, maybe the pain really was too much.

                Castiel blamed himself for my fall. In fact, he felt so bad that he suddenly became a constant fixture of our house. Suddenly, because of a broken arm, those blue eyes were everywhere. Suddenly, because of an old oak tree and an old house, I had a best friend. I didn’t think I’d ever be thankful that my dad had yelled at me.

                Me and Cas became a mutually exclusive item nearly over night. We went through everything together, including all of the girlfriends I had who hated him. They didn’t usually last long.

                Anna made the old house down the street look nice, but she left the ivy and the rusty gate and most of the weeds. We all liked it that way. Anna sort of became my mom too, even though she was really Cas’s older sister. They had different last names, different moms, but Anna took good care of Cas. She took good care of me and Sam too.

                Years passed too quickly. They took as long as that instant where my eyes met Cas’s up in that tree. Barely long enough to compare those blue eyes to everything beautiful and blue and some things I just liked. An instant and we were in high school. Another and we were here, starting college. And now here I am attempting to write an essay about who I am. I can’t think of anything to say except that I am Cas’s best friend.

                I’m close to my brother, and I have friends and family, but Cas is… Well, he’s my soul mate. He’s Cas. He’s perfect. Even when we scream at each other or ignore each other for hours I still think he’s perfect.

                I guess I’m saying that we are all defined by the people we love, and so I’m defined by Cas. And now I’ve got to cut this essay short because I think I just realized I’m in love with my best friend.

                Sam is so not editing this.


End file.
